King's Tomb
by AGothicReader
Summary: When Bella is accused of a vicious crime by her family, she flees onto the moor. But our plucky heroine is caught by the King's Guard, Edward Cullen, who drags her by her hair onto a horse, and whisks her away to the castle. What will fate have in store for Bella? This is a story set in a medieval, fantasy world.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One - An Opening**

If you're curled up in a nice, warm bed tonight, then I beseech you to savour it. Savour that softness; savour that impenetrable blanket; that ship to your dreams. How I wish I did. There's many things in my life I wish I did. I wish for many things as equally as I love and hate many things. I might one day meet my wishes, I might one day meet a void.

I had only one wish that night: _get warm, Bella._

In the back of my mind, I can still feel the fingers of frost forming in my stomach. Nose nipped, lips wet with wintry rain. I never thought I'd see the day when I was alone on the moors. So greedily did the boggy ground slurp at my boots; so aggressively did the wind howl into my soul.

"Help," I muttered. Who'd hear it? "Help me, God."

Energy levels were depleting. Why didn't I eat all my dinner before I fled that scene of horror? Vaguely did I discern the Moon peek her mocking face amongst the clouds, granting me a temporary rush of light, before shrouding the fell in darkness. What I saw when she did this was an endless ocean of rising and falling waves, the crests of which were crowned with scars of rock. It was as if the Lord designed another sea and lost interest. He froze the waves and called them fells, and here I wandered. From afar you'd see my lonely silhouette against the night, and a useless cloak waving behind me in farewell of my past life.

But then someone lit a candle in my heart. I paused. I stared ahead at the light flickering in the distant window. "What?" I said softly, before peeling my hair from my face.

It's safe to say I headed for it.

On arrival, I saw it was a cottage. I heard the gate creak and slam before this revelation, thinking it some vile ghost stalking the land. Relief was my soul when the thatched roof came into view, lit scantily by the hearth in the bottom lattice.

I shivered at the gate. I couldn't bring myself to approach the door; what would they think? Oh, some lifeless, ugly lass is here, let's let her in. I think not. But then my core was fading. The fells were claiming me as their own. Already could I feel the soft hands of soil snake around my ankles, and the gentle breath of winter slice into my lungs.

It couldn't be helped. I sloshed up the path and knocked. The sound resonated. Above me, I saw the cottage ensnared by ivy. The door opened.

I was staring at a wrinkled lady; she was peering around the wood. I can not describe the worry plastered on her expression. In those eyes I saw only a defenceless angel, "May I help you?"

I found it hard to respond. Behind, the welcoming light of the hearth illuminated an old woman's house. Finally, I said, "I am sorry about this. I am so lost and alone. I didn't mean to disturb you, I just have nowhere to go."

Her eye studied my face. She twitched her expression into one of loss, "I have no room here."

"Just on the floor will do. I beg of you."

"You can't expect to sleep there. You must go elsewhere." She said with solemnity.

"But where?" I said, my tears mingling with the rain. "I have nowhere. I am going to die. Please help me."

A pause. "This can't be done."

Her face began to die behind the closing door. I stopped it with a thud. She started. I said, "Please. You can't leave me here."

"I am alone," She retracted behind the door. "How do I know you're to be trusted?"

I couldn't answer that. All I did was convey a shadow across my face, one that said if left out her tonight, I would surely die.

"Child...By God's hand you were guided here. You must sleep on the floor."

Warmth exploded in my heart. I wanted to kiss her, "Oh, my dear lady. I am eternally grateful. I ask only to stay the night."

She nodded and moved aside. I entered. Immediately I was hit with heat and life. The aroma of a rich broth swirled about my nostrils, a crackling fire snapped at my ears. "A lovely house." I said. But no sooner had I brought these words to my lips before I hit the ground. One thing lingered in my senses before all faded to black: a white figure stood at the door.

Time is a funny thing. In moments of the purest joy, it speeds by like a child late for class. In moments of the purest boredom, it is a snail carrying the world in his shell. In the moments of unconsciousness, it is long and short. A thick and a thin liquid. Maybe rainclouds drop the hours as a drizzle, maybe hurricanes release torrents of years. Does it trickle down the stream of your mind, or does it thunder upon rock, lashing down cliffs? In my case, it simply evaporated, for when I woke, no notion of the time passed did I know.

I did know bubbling, however. At least, this is what I heard. Following this, the sensation of a knitted material softened against my skin. I ached a finger to touch it; it was a blanket. On opening my eyes, I was in a small bed, in a small room. Low beams were adorned with assortments such as dried herbs and weaved wood. The sound of bubbling was from behind the closed door; somebody was bustling about in there.

I felt clean. Cleaner than having icy rainwater shower you, that is. And just then my memory was flooded. I recalled where I was - or where I should be - and tried to get up. I say tried; a universal aching had married with my body, and took full control over the household. Arm and leg were in effect useless. "I hope I'm ok. Where is the woman?" I asked myself.

An answer drifted in: _the_ woman. Her face was red and lively. She smiled at me, "My child. You are awake." I felt her sit on the bed and rest a hand on my face. I couldn't help smiling.

"I can't express my gratitude. Oh, am I still in your home?"

"Yes. You fainted. I thought you badly hit your head. Are you feeling okay?"

"I have a headache. My faculties are all here, though" I laughed. She did, too. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days. God has watched over you, my girl."

I rested a hand on hers. She gasped at the touch, "And you watched over me. I will repay you for this."

"Nonsense!" Pulling away her hand. "I do what is right. Now, I made you some broth, and you will eat it." She giggled before shuffling out the room. A motherly aura embraced her. When I was around her, I felt at utter ease. She now held a bowl before me; steam wisped to my nose and condensed on my cheeks. It smelled like a dish crafted by an expert.

On wolfing it down, the smell was not exaggerating. Soon after, I melted into a fuzzy, safe sleep.

Another few days passed before I regained my strength. A divorce commenced in my body. I watched the groom storm out of the window. Now in control of my limbs, I let a toe touch the wooden floor. It was cold. A change in weather was not enacted; still rain poured upon the howling fells. How unbelievable to think I was so close to becoming a corpse on that yellow grass, and now I was a fully living human being, strong and thankful.

The cottage revealed itself to be everything I expected. Remnants of a woman's life scattered here and there; a faint light hushed from the fire; above, the ceiling arched into a prism of sorts.

When I looked down, I found the woman sleeping on the floor. A blanket, tattered and useless, was wrapped around her. I wanted to rouse her, and tell her I had no more use for her bed. But she looked tranquil. I watched her chest rise and fall, listen to a soft snoring mingle with the crackling logs.

I smiled and let my shoulders loosen. Within an instant, they were tight again. A heavy banging erupted at the door. It shook the foundations of my peace and invoked a deerlike angst.

"Open please," A man's voice said firmly. Despite being muffled, it carried a penetrating power.

I looked at the woman. She was startled awake, yet she quickly obtained her senses and stared at me. A thousand expressions swam upon her face.

With a rush, I was almost forced into the bedroom. I hid as well as I could beneath the bed; dead spiders guarded there.

Then I heard her open the front door.

"Yes, sir?" She carried that same worried tone as when I first met her.

"Hello, ma'am. I am here on official business. How is your day going?" I let the heavy words carry through the cottage and land on my ears. I trembled.

"My day was going well. You woke me."

"I do apologise, ma'am. The King's Guard aren't employed to wake you," Two forced laughs. "Now, may I come in?"

She paused. The pause was thick. "I am afraid not, sir. My house is a tip. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself before a handsome soldier such as yourself."

"I do not mind, ma'am."

"Well, you can't expect an old spinster to allow her house to be seen like this. At least give me a few minutes to clean."

"I don't think so," I was surprised by the acute delivery these words were said. "I am honestly not here to judge your housekeeping skills."

I could picture her face, shadowy and afraid, "Sir, I don't want you in my home. A home that my late husband built.

He laughed; a deep, false thing, "I have the authority to enter."

"But may I ask why you are so inclined to enter?"

"All I ask is to enter, have a look around, and leave. There is no reason to trouble yourself."

"I apologise for feeling troubled at having a tall, armed man demand entry into my home. Please, tell me your business."

I felt a grin spread over my face. That grin soon turned sour.

"If you are so desperate to know, then I will inform you that a young woman has recently committed a vile crime. She ran away before anyone could catch her." He said the words so seriously. A fire of horror caught in my breast. "She is suspected to be in these parts."

Another dense pause, "I have seen no woman lately, sir."

"Then you have nothing to hide," I heard him shift; his armour clanked like a funeral bell.

"I apologise, but -"

Here she was cut off by his voice, which changed swiftly to severity and intimidation, "I am going to give you one last chance to let me in. Otherwise I will arrest you."

This third and final pause was grim. It let me ruminate for a second; all I could think was "what am I to do? How can I do this?"

The woman let him in. How heavy his footsteps were thunder could not rival. I feared they'd startle the dead spiders at my side, and wake them up as evil spider zombies.

It seemed the only thing possible was to pray that he would not have the intelligence to look under the bed. Unfortunately, his voice contradicted that; he was a man in full control of his mind. And when he looked under the bed, I knew I was going to be caught. Luckily, I also had the intelligence to slip into the wardrobe. But he looked there, too, and I was caught, and dragged out by my hair.

His grasp was tight, unyielding. I screamed as he pulled me to the front door; I was a blur, like a frantic animal caught in a rope.

"Sir! That is my daughter!" The woman cried.

He threw me to the path outside. Cold, hard stone impressed on my chin. "I will question her later," Was the response.

I tried to look at him, but he pushed my head down with his solid boot. The rain swirled about me; muddy water made up that plain face of mine.

"You can't take her!" She tried to push past him. All I heard was a thud of denial.

"Don't think about it, ma'am."

"I can't be left alone in this winter without my child! I will surely die."

I winced as a stone stabbed at my heart.

"Ma'am, she will be back sooner than the snow if she is not who we think she is," He smiled; I could hear it taint the air. "However, if she is the girl who did that awful deed, then we'll be back to get you."

Mournfully the wind passed through the torrent. I saw a four-legged beast at the end of the path neigh angrily through frigid air.

"Ma'am," He continued calmly to the woman. I at this point had stopped struggling. "Would you sign this contract to say if your experience with the King's Guard was positive or negative?" I heard the unravelling of a scroll.

"How dare you!" She cried again, shrill. "That is my daughter."

"I don't believe it. Now, if you would, sign under where my name is: Edward Cullen. Farewell, have a nice day."

He walked up the path swiftly. My hair was grasped again and I was thrust onto the back of a black horse. He mounted it, too. His armour was my rest as I faded into a hellish coma.

Before I totally lost control, my last sight was of the woman weeping by the door, and my door closing on her grief stricken face.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for the support. It is highly appreciated.**

 **Chapter II - Journeys**

His name was Edward. His armour was rough on my cheeks. Our journey on horseback was 120 miles. We stopped at an inn on the first day, just as twilight was claiming the setting sun.

I came to my senses a few hours prior. Between then and the inn I was as silent as the man before me. I stared and stared. All I saw was a grim forest, devoid of leaves, abundant in shadow.

The Drunken Tree was its own building; no village or town enclosed it. A swinging lantern hung over the door, and emerging through the brambly mist, one could mistake it for a lighthouse.

Rettle, Edward's horse, trotted to a stop at the entrance. I dismounted into a sloshy brew of mud. The cold water seeped into my boots and soaked my socks. "Ah," I exclaimed.

Edward examined me like I was another tree to the forest, and ushered me in with a firm my back, I heard his breathing shake the chainmail armour. I noted that a golden crown was masterly sewn into it. Very well did I know the King's Guard.

He turned to me before entry, "Don't try to run out on me, Isabella. It'll be a foolish mistake." A whistle of wind made the lantern above creak, drawing dramatic shadows upon us. "Now, in here, you're going to stay by my side, then we'll go to bed. Understood?"

I nodded. I had an anvil pressing on my head, but I still kept it up high. My face was a calm field, my heart was a battle-field.

The door ached open. I was hit with the smell of dried ale. The first - and only - figure I saw was the barman. His hair was a violent red and his face focused on the glass he cleaned. Zero acknowledgement was afforded to us, despite the imposing frame of my captor.

"Stay here," And so I lingered beneath the lonely stone threshold. It was a tight thing; no window on either side, with the howling wind behind me and the wall-like man before me.

"Hello, sir. Marvelous sword," I heard Edward say as he pointed over the bar. His tone was so different to how he spoke to _me._ "May we have a room?"

"Of course." The man saw me lurking in the shadows. "Two?"

"Yes."

"Double bed?"

Edward glanced swiftly at me. _I would never sleep in the same bed as you, sir; your codpiece does nothing to deceive me._ "Two singles."

"One night?"

"Yes."

Handed a rusty key, Edward gave the man a respectful nod, and pulled me up the stairs.

His grip was firm; I felt it dig into my young skin.

On releasing me in our room (a dim, miserable thing), I couldn't help saying: "I can easily walk without your hand, sir."

Laughter, true and honest, dripped from his lips, "I can't have you running away." He sat on the bed; the lattice behind him painted a lonely, twilit world.

"Do you think I'll run away, with that thing at your belt?" I gestured to his sword, regal and menacing.

He flashed a look at me, "Have you been staring at my codpiece?" Again, his laughter danced into the room. Somehow, that fierce visage at the cottage had melted away. And on removing his helmet, I got a better look at his face. Warm, studious features under a mess of brown hair. Without thinking, I drew my gaze from him and lay on the other bed.

The green eyes of mine fixed to my earth-enthused clothes. One night roaming those unforgiving moors reduced my aristocratic attire to a pauper's livery. The fragrance of faded autumn lingered in my hair; I was surprised a squirrel hadn't made a home in that matted mess.

To my right, I heard a rummaging. I looked; Edward was out of his armour and in his undergarments, hands sifting through a tattered rucksack. I was not interested, and turned away. But something hard hit my head. I heard it roll onto the sheets. It was an apple.

"Eat it."

"An apple?" I held it.

"Yes, an apple."

I released it. It scurried from my bed and halted at his foot. "Sir, I'd rather die of starvation than consume your food."

"A painful death," He said, picking it up.

"Not more painful than my life," I replied, half-smiling.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it. Eyes locked; gold on green. I shied away from it and studied the peeling walls.

"Will you please eat the apple? I can't have you dying before we reach my castle." He wielded the fruit like a dagger.

"Three days is ample time to avoid starving."

"Well, you are a small girl. Surely you can live off a few crumbs."

"Oh, sir. You misjudge." I made a dark laugh.

"Do I?"

I brushed aside my hair. "Never underestimate your enemy, sir."

He sunk his teeth into the apple; I felt the crunch from here. "We're enemies?"

"Do you class what you did as friendly?"

"Do you class what _you_ did as friendly?" He spun the words around like a fox. A grin eased his countenance, "I'm just doing my job. I'm not that bad."

I stared at him quizzically, "What do you mean?"

"I see the way you look at me. I can't blame you for seeing me as a villain."

"I never said that. Merely I won't see you as a saint, either. You did drag me by my hair."

To this he gestured at me with the apple, "I had to get you out of there somehow. I thought you were going to be a knife wielding lunatic."

I hid my face to hide my smile, "Maybe I am."

"You're funny, Bella," He responded with not an ounce of amusement. I kept my face concealed, hearing him lie back and release a fatigued sigh. Then a swift blow of air, and utter darkness.

That night, I slept.

The morning arrived misty and brisk. I was roused at 8:40. We set out at 9. By this point, I wish I'd ate the apple; my stomach was a dragon, growling and rumbling.

In front of me, on Rettle, Edward mocked these sounds, saying I sounded like an angry whale. I was tempted to pinch his legs when he laughed, but I remained silent - besides my stomach, that is.

The forest faded into low shrubs, and they lapsed into a section of moorland called the Saddle. All along my skin goosebumps rose. A majestic sight of sunlight hailing upon the fells greeted me; perhaps it was God giving me one last view of His world before my coming death.

Blue mountains stalked the horizon; gradual waves of moorland stretched in the morning dew. I perceived deer frolicking over becks and brooks; distant waterfalls tumbled in our ears. Grand shadows of cloud sullied the moor, further highlighting the sunlit sections. Even Edward had his head turned towards it, where his fine profile stood starkly against the sky.

But this profile suddenly flashed away. Rittle halted harshly; Edward gasped. Jolting at the abrupt stop, I hit my head on his armour; his body was tense, defensive. I peered over his shoulder. Before I could discern anything, an arrow hissed past my head. I felt the air sizzle where it was.

Edward erupted. He pulled me from the horse and we dived by a nearby rock. All thoughts of the pastoral scenery dissolved into a stew of adrenaline. A flurry of jeering boomed in front of us; footsteps trembled on the ground.

"What's going on?" I shouted, staring at his face. It was crumpled with concentration. Before he could answer, a man clad in a bandit's clothes peered menacingly over us. Edward, like lighting, unleashed his sword. It was so fast; the bandit had no time to react before Edward thrust the blade into his face.

I widened my eyes and let out a whimper of astonishment; blood trickled down the sword. The bandit fell with no grace; his face drained of life.

Edward turned to me, verbally demanded I stay here, and sprang over the rock. I remained pressed against it. A familiar rush of energy manipulated my veins. All my focus was on the sound of battle behind me; all my focus was on trying not to join in. It seemed fate had other plans, however; this focus betrayed me, and fixed on the bandit's scabbard.

I wielded it. A wicked grin spread over my face. The feel of the nicked blade on my fingers brought me to happier times.

Closing on the hilt, rough as bark, I crawled silently from the rock and hid in the bushes. There, I saw a horde of five versus one. Edward was a blur in battle. It was if the others were blindfolded; he anticipated every attack and followed it through with a devastating blow. I stared in wonder, totally ignoring the bandit camp around me, which clearly preyed on defenceless travellers.

Edward span like a whirlwind to deliver one final blow to the chief. I managed to catch the sweat shine on his forehead, his murky hair cling to those fine cheeks, his lips part to complete the look of a warrior. I also noticed another bandit, all in black robes, sneaking behind him. All intent of cowardly murder brewed beneath his vile face. "No," I muttered. Fury spat in my heart. My hand closed on the scabbard.

The wind sped beneath my feet. I ran at him; I killed him. His neck bubbled like a fountain.

Edward had just heaved his sword from the chief when he turned to see me, panting and shuddering over the corpse.

A sudden silence - besides the crows soaring in the air - pervaded us. He stared at me. I bowed at him and dropped the scabbard. I went to walk back to the surprisingly docile horse, but he pulled me back. "Are you just going to walk away?" He was breathing heavily.

I nodded. I looked at the stroke of blood splattered like a branch over his cheek.

"Are you ok?"

I nodded again.

He heaved a sigh. He looked tired, "Thanks."

"What for?"

"Saving me."

"A knight confessing to being saved by a woman? Edward, I-" A pause. We stared. "You're welcome."

His thick armour possessed a sort of fluidity, as if the warmth on his face reflected onto the metal. He didn't say anything to me. He merely smiled and patted my shoulder as he walked past. We left the scene, the sun shining on us.

At dusk, rain fell. A ruin was our camp. Edward couldn't light a fire, so we hung under the wings of a crumbled gargoyle. I listened to the rhythmic tapping of the rain. It reminded me of the fun I had back home, before all this happened. Before I was thrust by the ones I loved into a firestorm, all aimed at me. How could they do it? A week ago I was due to live the life of a noble lady; now look at me.

"I've got to admit I'm a little nervous."

I snapped from my thoughts at Edward's voice. "What?"

"Weren't you listening?" He smiled. "Myself and five others are going on an expedition."

"Oh. Where?"

"I've just been talking about it."

"Sorry, Edward," I said. "I was thinking."

"About what."

"Never you mind," I smiled back. "Go on: what's this expedition?"

"We've found something. A tomb," He said it almost listlessly, as if he didn't know why he was telling me. "The King's daughter has ran away. We think she's gone there."

A pinch of curiosity seized me, "What? Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would Alice run in an old tomb?"

Even in the dark could I see the light shine in his eyes, "You know Alice?"

"She's the princess. Of course I know her."

"Oh, of course." He shivered under the gargoyle; I suspected a trickle of rain down his back. "Alice has recently been in love with a lad called Jasper. He's a lowly scrub. A stable boy," Here he trailed off.

"So?"

"So she can't be seen with him. It's embarrassing."

I'd heard this all my life. It was the reason I was being executed, "It's not embarrassing."

He sighed, wisps of his breath clouding the night. "I shouldn't even be telling you this. It's classified information."

"Seeing as I'll be decapitated in a few days, I doubt I'll be able to tell many people. Continue, please." I grasped his hand. He jolted but kept it there.

"You're right; you will be dead soon," A cheeky smirk.

"Thanks for reminding me," I rolled my eyes.

"I'll remind you every step of the way. But first, I'll tell you what happened. Alice rebelled. She trashed her room, threatened to kill her mother, even threatened suicide. King Carlisle demanded she be locked in the tower for everyone's safety. Alice, though' is a clever girl; she escaped by the secret passage behind the bookshelf." He laughed to himself. I remained hooked. "When the guard came to give her her food, she was gone. Vanished. Jasper had vanished from the stable, too. It was midnight when the alarm was raised, and I had to get out of bed to join the search party."

"Poor you."

"Sarcastic witch. Anyway, we managed to trace her to a ruined church in the northern fells. On closer inspection, however, and here's the good bit," He grinned at me, pausing to extend the drama. "It led into a tomb! A tomb that for centuries had gone unnoticed."

"Really!"

"Yes! And even worse, we discovered strands of Alice's hair nearby and one of Jasper's shoes near the entrance."

I put my hands over my mouth, "No! What does that mean?"

"They're not dead; my comrade Jacob Black heard a woman's laughter coming from the tomb. That must be Alice."

A shiver, though not related to Edward's raindrop, tantalised me. "Is this tomb on any map?"

"No. It's nowhere in the history books. It's as if it's a ghost tomb, sprouting out of nowhere. We've called it King's Tomb."

"Why that name?"

He leaned in close to me, only the gnarled feet of the gargoyle separating us, "Because we found a corpse a little inside the tomb, wearing a crown. It's being analysed as we speak."

"Edward, this is too much," I laughed nervously. My mind was going haywire. What is the deal with this place? I wish, wish, wished to find out; perhaps my beheaded spirit will watch over the expedition. I asked him who was going on it.

"Four people, but we've only found three: myself; the man who heard the laughing, Jacob Black; and the sorceress Rosalie Hale." He laughed, but I sensed a shadow swimming beneath it.

"Four people? That's not a lot."

"You're telling me." He made a sigh, morose and deep.

We retired that night with a new bond between us, one which I never expected to form. I didn't love him; I didn't even like him. But I did respect him, and I was sad to be leaving this world without delving deeper into his story, just as he'd delve deep into a place man didn't create.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III - Coldstone Castle**

Everywhere I look, I see blood. It's dripping off the walls, it's mingling with the hay, it's sloshing around the horses' hooves. And at the centre of the stable he lies; a lake of red; a sea of death.

I jolt awake. I grab my neck and rub it, almost as an instinct. Cold sweat coats me. To my right sleeps Edward. A breeze dapples with his snoring, and I pull back the skin on my face.

Watching us, the gargoyles loom, lichen covered and menacing. But it wasn't their presence that woke me.

Why does my brain keep playing the same dream? It's like a demonic tapestry, where the artist continually sews the horrors for all to see. Do I hate myself, and therefore relive that moment solely to hurt me? I'm sending a path to whoever manages my brain to cease; stop showing me John's neck wide and red, a view into a veiny mess.

Sunlight soon met the land after my awakening. It hit the skeletal trees, casting shadows of spiderwebs over the ruin. I discerned, on the bumpy horizon, a tall mass of black. It rose to a nasty point, a knife penetrating the sky, and sloped down gradually.

As the day progressed, I reached this spectre. What I saw, hewn into a slab of weathered stone over the gate, were the words: **Castle of Coldstone 310 AD**

But my attention on this was transitory; I was swiftly escorted from Edward and throw into a dungeon. The man who did this seemed pleased to handle me; a firmness grew in his trouser that knowingly shouldered into my leg.

I cast him a sharp look. He merely grinned. When I shoved away from him, he said, through the rusted iron bars, "You're a feisty devil. I'll be paying you a few visits."

My eye drew from the dim room and fell on his devouring face. I sped up to the bars and spat directly into it. An incredulity possessed him, until he began to chuckle. He wiped his chin and said, "You'll be doing more than spitting when I'm done with you."

"Begone, vile man," I hissed.

"Very rare that I come across a lass with a bit of life in her."

"Hopefully I'll be rid of that life when my trial is decided. Or do you hanker after dead girls, too?"

He paused at my words, before a look of boyish wonder painted over him, "Oh, you're the maniac? All the lads have been chatting about you," I felt my face retract angrily at his words. "The girl that brutally murdered her stable boy lover."

I didn't respond. I dragged myself to the far wall.

"Why did you do it? You can tell me, you know; I'm your friend," Venomous sarcasm peppered his voice.

I couldn't resist saying, "I didn't. I was framed."

"Aye? By who?"

I shook my head in disgust, and turned away. A tiny window met me, breathing a fresh breeze into the cell. The man's words dissolved into the steel sky outside. Despite the size of the window, my view was panoramic; Coldstone Castle sprawled from one edge to the other. Despondence embodied the architecture. I spotted statues of angels and saints, lonely in their manner, standing on the battlements; a symphony of neighing flowed from a stable unseen; high above, I discerned a tower standing on the far side. Is that Alice's tower?

It was ensnared by algae and opportunistic ferns. I leant on the window's edge to get a better look. On doing so, my hand met a shallow pool of cold water. The windowsill had collected the rain from the preceding nights, as had the rest of the dungeon, it seemed.

I stayed in this hollow state for 24 hours. I left the window and tried sleeping on the hard bed. Ultimately, my thoughts were focused on something entirely different.

I couldn't get rid of John's corpse from my mind; it was dyed a stark red. The knife lies by his face; a pale betrayal glazes in his eyes until they lose all life. How I vividly remember the look he had; such horror and distress. Who did this to you, I screamed.

 _Apparently I did._

I was broken from my reverie by a pair of footsteps sauntering in the room. Gloomy as it was, I saw Edward.

"How was your sleep?" He asked.

I managed to laugh, which soon turned to a yawn. "What time is it?"

"8 in the morning."

I jumped up, only now noticing it was light outside. Had I mulled over my John for so long?

Edward continued, "Do you hear the birds outside? They're the native bird of the Castle."

All I heard were crows, cawing in the dreadful rain. Behind Edward, a dimly lit passage snaked up somewhere; this was the dungeon's entrance, and it was where that lascivious guard retreated a few hours prior.

Edward folded his arms. I saw his frame much more clearly now, in his loose attire, "I'm going to escort you to the trial at 9." A twang of some emotion slithered about his voice, but I was too tired to realise it.

He paused. We stayed still for a moment. A ray of grey light transcended the window and fell on my brown hair. He said, "Your mother is here."

I recoiled in horror, "What?!"

"She arrived in the night, weeping," His face had a look of 'what's the problem' on it. "She said she was so sad to be in such a predicament."

 _What?_ Savage claws scraped in my head, birthing fresh scars. The blood that poured from these was a silver chrome, and in its reflection I saw I was stumbling, beheaded, in a room full of wealthy men. My neck bubbled blood that made them all laugh. At the end of the room was a roaring fire; it was dying. In waltzed a flamboyant man with a bit of fuel for the flames. What he threw in there made the entire room roar with laughter. My head, my brain, smouldered in the fire.

Snapping out of this, I screamed. It roared out of my like a bolt of lightning. Every emotion related to rage was mixed with it. "My mother is a liar! A deceiver!"

He stared at me quizzically, "What are you talking about?"

"She framed me! She put me in this mess," I heaved out my fury in quick breaths.

"I don't believe that," He returned. "She seems so sweet."

I cast him a sharp look. "What? That woman is ruining my life, and you don't trust me? "

He pursed his lip, "Why would I trust you?"

I laughed derisively, "Sure. It's not like I saved your life or anything."

"Can you blame me for thinking that, Bella? I mean, why would she frame you?"

My eye averted from his. I felt his sear into my flesh, "People do evil things."

Nine eventually tolled. The courtroom was a tiny space with four people present: the judge, myself, my mother, and Edward (as witness and guard).

Lucy Swan's face had significantly aged since I last saw her. A week of madness creased her skin, turning it an insipid grey colour. Hair, neat and tidy, had lost the lustrous shine she passed on to me. Her clothes were black and gloomy. Her eyes, studying me as if I were the culprit, retained the same soulless mask I'd grown up with.

After a babble of legal nonsense from the judge, she was allowed to cast her verdict. To the lovely reader who desires a swift lowdown of the courtroom's appearance, let me tell you it did not contrast with my mother's attire. Actually, the freezing room, windowless and dim, would be a brilliant manifestation of her heart; she proved this by opening: "My daughter definitely did it, your honour. I remember it so vividly, I do. Blood everywhere; her body smothering his corpse. I think she sucking his blood," She said in the most dramatic voice. "But you were always a vicious child, weren't you, Bella? You loved killing little puppies, and setting things alight. Even my dead mother's letters did she burn!" Oh how she poured with tears and wobbled her wrinkly lip.

"Ms. Swan," The judge said softly, affectionately. "Perhaps we should move onto the victim. The latter topic is clearly of some distress to you."

"Yes, yes, you're right," Composing herself, " The stable boy John Shadow was a lovely lad. A handsome lad, too; would do anything for you. When I found him swimming in his own blood, I knew my devilspawn was the murderer. Your honour, his neck was nonexistent! Vessels and veins spilledout of it like a waterfall."

"You poisonous witch," I cried from across the room. "You killed him. You and Andrew murdered him!" I couldn't stop the tears falling down my cheeks; I fell to the chair. "What was it, mother, that made you kill him? Was it his low birth? Or was it your hatred of me?"

She put on a distraught face, "This is what she does! She blames it on her family. How can you say I did this, and how dare you bring your brother, Andrew, into it. He is not a corrupted freak like you! He does not delight in causing sorrow everywhere he turns!"

"Yes!" My eyes were a bloodshot mess. My face burned, "You'll always defend dear Andrew. After all, he's married the rich girl. He's got the degree. He's got the manor in the hills. But he's a murderer, too; he killed your puppies! He set the farm on fire! He used to hurt me, too; he used to touch me," I croaked and dropped my head.

"Refrain from bringing in other affairs, Miss Swan," The judge said without thought or reason. "It seems you have no evidence of this, whereas many pieces of evidence are stacked against you. Let's take a look at the knife: your fingerprints were found on it, no?"

"Yes, sir," Lucy said eagerly.

I said, through gritted teeth, "That's because you asked me to chop the carrots for the dinner. Oh I see how meticulously you planned this. All a set up." I looked at Edward briefly, stoic as a stone. "I bet you and goldenboy planned my marriage all along, but when I gave you the rejection, you got the knives out."

On the far side, Lucy cried out, "You tell me what motive I had for killing John Shadow, then! Let us hear your theory! I want to hear your lies!"

I rose. I tried to remain strong, though I knew my hands were shaking, "If I tell lies, then the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She scowled at me. "I'll tell you that I loved John, mother. I truly did. You _hated_ him. And why? Because he had no money. Let me tell you, your honour, that I intended to marry that man while she intended me to marry one William Hornet. Two days after John proposed, I found him dead. And it so happened that Mr. Hornet arrived by ornate carriage two hours later to 'console me'. What a pile of shit!"

"Miss Swan," The judge sighed. He cast Lucy a look, "You have no evidence of these claims."

"I had to flee, your honour. I had no time to collect evidence."

"Why did you flee?" Lucy said. "Running from your crime?"

"Running from you more like. I ran onto the moor, where I met the most benevolent lady. The kind of person a mother should aspire to be. You know what," I said quietly. "If I am sentenced to death, I'll be glad to finally be rid of you."

The judge shook his head, "Let us get to that verdict, then." A pause ensued; he perused a pile of papers with his eye retracted under that studious brow. When he looked up, and a concluding bang of the gavel hit his desk, he said, "This case is decided. I find Miss Isabella Swan _guilty_ of murdering John Shadow. The judge decides Miss Isabella Swan will be executed tomorrow morning. Court dismissed." He flourished out of the room in a black blur. I felt a darkness enclose about me.

Lucy rose, a victorious smile on her face. She cast a look at me, then left.

Edward left, too. But before he did, he walked past me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

Seconds later, I was borne by strange arms up a spiral stair. He pushed me up and up. The more I ascended, the more my spirits descended, as if the stairway to Heaven was a disguised stairway to Hell; I faltered on the 200th step. "I'm not going any further," I wheezed. But the stranger's arms wrapped about me and I was carried to my lair.

A door was kicked open. He gracefully lobbed me into the room and left; the latch rattled, and I was alone. Alone, that is, except for the spiders lurking in the corners, or the incomplete statues under moth-eaten sheets. With a quivering hand, I lifted one of these to meet the face of a beautiful lady. Her eyes were encrusted with a mournful sapphire. They stared into my soul and reflected it.

The room was circular. High beams met in the centre to form a coned ceiling. A bed lay beneath the lattice window. From the latter my view could not be overrated.

Down my cheek a tear fell, then another, and another. The next thing I know, I was crying full fledged. As I lay on the bed, I felt my heart shatter, as if the sun was made of glass and set too fast.

Beneath my low sobs, voices far below the window met me. On looking out - and adjusting to the ridiculous height - I saw Edward and a blonde lass talking in the deserted courtyard.

"She's being sentenced to death. The trial was dreadful."

"It was?"

"Just dreadful. I pray for her. She's got talent; what a waste."

"Talent?" The girl responded; a sweet, smart voice. "What do you mean?" They're sat on a bench beneath a tree.

"She can fight is what I mean," Edward laughed. "She saved my life, y'know?"

She gasped, "Don't make me laugh. You're surely joking. I saw her escorted to the tower and she was a tiny thing."

"You'd better believe it, Rosalie. She's agile, dexterous...Fun."

"Fun?" Rosalie asked teasingly. "What happened on your little trip to make you say that?"

I blushed. Edward said, "Nothing! She's just fun to be around."

A pause. The twilight sky above painted the castle a grey, still scene.

Rosalie began to speak, her eye fixed on the tree's branches, "Do you think we'll see a tree again after all this?"

Edward hesitated, "After all what?"

"After the tomb. I can't help feeling we're walking to our doom."

"We'll be fine, I'm sure."

"You're sure?"

"Not really," He let out a short laugh. "But we've been through worse; seeing Jacob naked is by far worse."

They chuckled. Rosalie's head rested on his shoulder; she said, "I beg to differ."

"Oh right; you _love_ him."

She shifted and slapped him mockingly, before returning to the shoulder, "Can't a girl love?"

"No. She must knit and breed. That's the code."

Rosalie - and myself - shook our heads, "And what's the code for men? Play with your swords, stabbing people?"

He grinned, "We're talking about fighting, right?"

"Boys are brutal. Sometimes going into a tomb is more appealing than going into a heart."

"But a tomb may lead to your death."

"As may a heart; a soul's death."

Another pause. I stared at Rosalie with wonder. Her words touched me.

Edward said, "C'mon, let's find Jake. I'm in the mood for some training."

And so, they scattered away, hand in hand. I watched their lively figures disappear into the main-hall, then turned from the window, to a room that was anything but lively; just a bed, a door, and a bookshelf.


End file.
